


Choices

by the_dragongirl



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Finn adjusts to life as a person, Fluff, M/M, Poe helps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:51:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6465655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dragongirl/pseuds/the_dragongirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the little choices that Finn finds hardest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissPop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissPop/gifts).



> For Pop, who asked me to write something featuring the TFA characters. Because I am occasionally a walking cliché, I wrote her Stormpilot fluff.

It’s making choices that’s the hardest thing to get used to. You’d think that, once he’s made the big choices (to defect from the First Order, to rescue the Resistance pilot, to stay with the incredible scavenger girl, to go to the rescue when the First Order takes her) that the small ones would be easy. But it turns out that, while some innate sense inside him of what is right can guide Finn through big things, he has no framework for anything less dire.

When he first wakes up in the Resistance medbay, things are a lot easier. There’s not a lot to choose when you’re still too tired and in too much pain to be doing much of anything beyond eating, bathing, and a little bit of light physical therapy. Everything in the medbay is carefully regimented, from the clothes he wears to the food he eats to the hours of waking and sleeping. It’s not exactly _pleasant_ , but it is at least familiar.

The trouble starts when he’s released from the medbay. At least Poe is there with him to show him around, so he’s not completely lost. But the first thing Poe says to Finn after the medic lets them go (with one final stern warning the Finn isn’t to exert himself until he’s cleared for activity, because released does NOT mean entirely healed, do you understand me young man?) is, “You’ve got a couple choices in terms of housing, buddy. We’re pretty pressed for space right now, but I could get some folks to move around if you’d like a room to yourself. I mean, you’ve definitely earned it, if you want a little privacy. Or, if you like, there’s an empty bunk in my room. Whatever you prefer.”

And Finn just stares at him. Because, private quarters? Is that a thing people actually _do_? Finn never shared a room fewer than three others before leaving the First Order, and he’s not even sure what someone would do with all that space. But then he thinks about invading Poe’s own room. Poe, who has already given him so much, who gave Finn a name and a purpose, who came to see Finn in the medbay every day after he woke up. He can’t ask Poe to give up something else for him. He just can’t.

“I...d-don’t want to be any trouble,” Finn stammers out. He’s about to add that he can just sleep in whatever barracks they have most of their troops in, when Poe grins at him, wide and soft in a way that Finn still hasn’t quite figured out how to respond to.

“Well then, I guess you’ll just bunk with me,” Poe says, his smile getting impossibly brighter. “I could use the company. The place seems too empty by myself.” And in that moment, Finn is just so grateful the Poe has made that decision for him, because he would have hated to make the wrong choice, and miss out on seeing Poe this happy.

 

* * *

 

The next small crisis comes when Poe takes him to the quartermaster to get him some clothes. He’s been making do with medical scrubs for the last few weeks, since his uniform blacks got pretty badly shredded. And really, Finn would be perfectly happy with anything sturdy that they have to spare in his size. He’s seen so many different cuts and colors of clothes on people around the base, and he still hasn’t worked out what the differences are supposed to signify. Maybe they’re rank markers? Or maybe the colors indicate their expertise? The differences certainly don’t seem have a functional purpose, because some of the clothing he’s seen can’t possibly be practical for any military job _he_ can think of. A small part of his mind whispers that maybe it was like the people on Takodana, where the cloths don’t signify anything other than the tastes of the wearer. But no, that’s ridiculous! After all, the Resistance may be disorganized compared to what he’s used to, but they _are_ still a military organization.

The quartermaster proves to be a short, amiable looking Rodian man, who greets Poe with a snort. “What have you have managed to destroy this time, Dameron?”

“Hey!” Poe protests. “I haven’t needed anything replaced in weeks! And besides, we’re not here for me. Finn here is a little short on actual clothes. I’m hoping you can help him out. You know, if there’s anything left in stores.”

The Rodian looks Finn up and down, and then gives him  a friendly nod. “Ah, yes. Our newest recruit. Welcome to the Resistance. I’m Dal Sanik, the one in charge of outfitting this whole crazy band. And don’t let this one here worry you. We have plenty of things in your size, and we’ll have you kitted out in no time.”

Dal picks up a datapad, and scrolls quickly through a set of files. “Now, it looks like you’re listed here as still being on medical leave, so I won’t bother to outfit you with anything in the way of uniforms just yet, since we don’t know where you’ll be assigned. So, that just leaves the basics. Civilian clothes, undergarments, sleepwear. What are your preferences in terms of colors? Do you have anything specific you want in terms of cut? We have a rather motley assortment at the moment, but I can probably manage at least an approximation of what you’re looking for, as long as it’s nothing too exotic.”

Finn once again finds himself unsure how to answer. Clothing is...clothing. It regulates body temperature and prevents injury from environmental hazards. Poe’s jacket had been one thing, because that had been _Poe’s_ , but what difference does it make what colors he wears when he’s not on duty? He tries to look to Poe, hoping he’ll jump in with an answer again, but Poe just looks at him expectantly.

Finally, Finn ventures, “Errr, well, I’d really just like something practical, you know? Something sturdy, that you can move in. And, uh, I suppose the things that Poe wears look very...suitable. So, maybe things like that?”

The quartermaster smiles at him encouragingly. “Still trying to find your own sense of style, eh? Well, there’s worse things you can do than imitate Dameron here. People tell me he’s very stylish, for one of your species. Now, you just wait here, and I’ll go fetch everything you need from stores.”

Poe snorts, and bites his lip, clearly trying very hard not to laugh. Finn just nods, and tries not to sink through the floor in embarrassment.

 

* * *

 

As the days pass and Finn does his best to settle into life as member of the Resistance (because he IS a member of the Resistance now. He’s not “that Stormtrooper who defected”; he’s “our man Finn, who saved all our asses when he helped destroy that kriffing giant death moon” - Pava’s words, but the attitude seems to be a general one), Finn discovers that his whole life here is like that. Choice after choice after choice. It’s exhausting, and confusing, and sometimes (though he tries hide it) a little infuriating. Because how is he supposed to care whether he eats likryt stew or nerfloaf with mashed tubers? Both will will give him enough nutrients, and all of the food here is so flavorful compared to what he’s had all his life than he can’t even begin to classify the tastes of things in terms of preference. Who has the energy to waste on choosing what _food_ to eat, every day, at every single meal? They even try to get him to make a choice about what _duties_ he’s going to take on to help out around the base, and that...that is not how duties are supposed to work. You are supposed to be assigned tasks based on your skills and the need for those tasks to be completed, so you can devote your energy to completing those tasks to the best of your abilities.

And the thing is, it’s not that Finn isn’t grateful that he gets to make _some_ choices for himself. The fact that the Resistance lets him _choose_ to fight with them, to choose whether he fights at all, is a wonder. They want him to be a person, not a number. To decide for himself who he’s going to be. To choose who and what he serves. And that is why he is here, and not long gone into the far reaches of the Unknown Regions, where no one has ever heard of the First Order. Because he _wants_ to help these people, to protect Rey and Poe and all of the people here who look at him like he is something more than a disposable resource. And honestly, well, these days, he’s probably do just about anything if it would make Poe smile.

But it’s just so exhausting, having to decide so many things for himself that really don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. He wonders sometimes if these people realize how much energy they use up every day having to choose every little thing from their socks to the flavor of their tea. Maybe it’s easier if you grow up getting to pick things for yourself, he thinks. Maybe it’s like a muscle that you build up with exercise, and his is just atrophied from years of disuse. It’s something he tries not to think about too hard, though, because he’s having enough difficulties adjusting without wasting his time brooding.

 

* * *

 

That is not to say, though, that every choice he has to make is unpleasant. In fact, some choices are about as far from unpleasant as it is possible to be.

He and Poe are sitting on Poe’s bunk one night, while Poe tries to explain to him the selection of novels he’s loaded onto a datapad for Finn.

“Some of these are classics, you know. From the Old Republic. I’ve tried to pick out a bunch from non-human cultures, since those were suppressed pretty heavily during the Empire, so they can be harder to find these days.” Poe flips the datapad to a different directory. “And here, you’ll find some newer stuff. I wasn’t really sure what genres you would like, so I added a bit of everything. You’ll have to let me know what you enjoyed when you’ve read some of it, and we’ll find you more of that.”

Finn sighs, and then turns to Poe to explain once again that he doesn’t mind if Poe just keeps picking out literature for him...but he stops. Because Poe is staring at him, and his face is _really_ close. He’s got that gentle smile on again, Finn’s favorite of his smiles, and kriff, have his lips _always_ looked that soft?

Poe’s breath hitches, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Finn stifles the urge to gasp. Then Poe says, very quietly. “I...Finn, I...I would really like to kiss you right now. But you’ve gotta know that you don’t have to. _We_ don’t have to. Not ever, if you don’t want. I mean, _I_ want, but...well, I’ve had a lot more opportunity, and you’re still learning about all this stuff, and...I guess what I’m saying is, this is something you have to decide for yourself.”

It’s not a choice he needs to think about long. Very deliberately, Finn takes the datapad out of Poe’s hand, and sets it down on the bunk beside him. Then he turns back, takes Poe’s face in his hands, and draws him in.

Choosing things is, without a doubt, the thing Finn has found hardest to get used to. But as Poe sighs against his lips, and wraps his arms around Finn to deepen the kiss, Finn thinks that, with incentives like these, he’ll learn to adjust sooner rather than later.

 


End file.
